


Love is a Four-Legged Word

by jawbonesandjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF John, Catlock, Eventual Johnlock, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Sherlock is a cat, Suicidal Thoughts, but not really, cat!Sherlock, nothing will happen between them until Sherlock is human again I promise, only a tiny bit though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawbonesandjumpers/pseuds/jawbonesandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is struggling to cope with life after the army, so he decides to volunteer at a local animal shelter. Helping out loving animals is helping him heal, but a run-in with a strange cat is the last thing he was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, my very first fic with chapters! Let's see how this goes. Sorry, I have no idea when I'll be updating, my writing is sporadic at best.  
> I've had this story in my head for about a year and a half now, hopefully I do an okay job...
> 
> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments and kudos on my other fics, it's because of all of you that I've kept writing! You guys are the best!  
> This is unbeta'd (as are all my fics), so please feel free to point out any errors!
> 
> Also, a friendly PSA to please spay or neuter your pets! And if you're looking to add another member to your family, please look to your local animal shelter or rescue, there are lots of loving animals waiting for a loving home. If you can't adopt, please support them by donating or volunteering! I've had pets and volunteered and fostered animals my whole life and I'll be the first to say that animals are truly amazing and do wonders for us.

“John, you have to figure out something…”

 

 

John Watson sat in his chair and resolutely stayed quiet. He stared at his therapist, Ella, who stared right back.

 

They sat in silence.

 

Ella finally sighed, “Look, I’m only trying to help you. It’ll take some time to readjust to civilian life, and it can feel very lonely.” She perked up a bit and asked pleasantly, “Why don’t you try helping out some place? Do something while you’re still looking for a job. You could volunteer. How about at a hospital? Or a nursing home?”

John only sat up straighter in his chair.

 

Why would he want to volunteer some place where he would only watch more people die?

 

He limped home that day.

Sat in his chair and stared at his gun.

Lied in bed that night and stared up at the ceiling.

Felt the cold creep in and settle in his bones.

Wished for the desert sun.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

He limped to Tesco the next day.

Limped to the park and stared at the ducks.

Limped home and ate beans on toast for dinner.

Sat and stared at the telly until bedtime.

Dreamed of bullets and blood.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

A dog barking pulled him out of his trance.

He stopped and looked across the street to find a little girl, giggling as her pup licked her face. Her parents were watching fondly, holding each others’ hands and looking like the ideal family.

He looked up at the building behind them, tilted his head and pursed his lips.

An animal shelter.

 

 

Why not?

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“Alright! So, you’ll mostly be manning the front – you know, answering phone calls, greeting visitors, things like that. There’ll be other volunteers who’ll come by and help out, but if we’re a little short on staff, we may have you head to the back and take care of the dogs and cats. If you have any questions, just ask me or Jill – she’s the woman you met when you filled out the paperwork – most of the other volunteers should be able to help you out too.” Sarah Sawyer, one of the veterinarians and lead volunteers at the clinic, gave him a sunny smile. “You wanna meet some of the animals?”

“Yeah, sure,” John said with an answering grin.

 

An older, scruffy looking mutt was the first dog he met.

Gentle brown eyes, shaggy brown coat, pink tongue and cold nose.

Scraps was his name, and he sniffed John’s hand before stretching out and licking his face with abandon.

 

“Oh, he likes you,” Sarah said with a laugh.

 

Warmth seeped in and wrapped around John’s heart.

Made his eyes light up.

His mouth stretch into a smile that lasted the rest of the day.

His dreams that night be a little less gruesome.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

He had never had a pet.

His father wasn’t very fond of animals. Wasn’t very fond of anything, to be honest.

Other than the bottle…

 

Each day he went in, each cat or dog that purred or barked, made him wish he had.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

He got a job. One at a hospital, no less. He was only a secretary and he worked late into the night, but it was better than nothing. It meant he could stay in his pitifully small flat and keep volunteering at the shelter.

 

Seeing the animals were what got him through those long nights.

What made him take out his gun less and less.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

As the months passed, he felt lighter.

Not free from the heavy weight of night terrors and ill thoughts, but he was coping.

He was healing.

 

He hadn’t taken his gun out of the drawer in weeks.

 

 

He was walking to the shelter, the approaching winter whipping through his jacket and making his shoulder ache just a bit. The steady click, click, click of his cane was background noise in the empty street as he kept his eyes resolutely forward. He was late, had had a nightmare in the wee hours of the morning and didn’t pass out from exhaustion until a few hours later and accidentally slept through his alarm.

Sarah would be upset.

The thought made him click, click along faster. He couldn’t wait to see the animals and pet his favorite dog, Scraps.

He was always more of a dog person.

If he could actually take care of himself, he’d consider adopting the pup. Poor Scraps had been in there a while, too old to appeal to most. Maybe if he saved up enough, he could adopt him…

 

A cat trotted past, so close it nearly tripped him.

He stopped, almost falling over from putting pressure on his bad leg. He glared over at the feline, who was curled up in the middle of the road and peering down into a manhole with extreme interest. Git.

It was a beautiful cat, he had to admit. Dark brown fur, nearly black. Bright blue, almost gray eyes. Pink nose and ears, long tail.

He never liked cats.

What was it doing staring down a manhole? It seemed fixated on something.

He blinked when it suddenly meowed and started pawing at the crack where the manhole had been shoved aside. It was trying valiantly to… push the manhole cover? It was too heavy, it’d never be able to. Yet there it was, pawing and huffing and hissing and twisting every which way to try and get it open.

What the bloody hell was it –

 

He could hear tires speeding down the street.

 

He turned to see a cab nearing them, right in the direction of the cat.

He looked back at the feline, saw that it had noticed the car as well, then watched in horror as it tried to move out of the way, only for its paw to get stuck in the crack. It began yeowling, screeching and trying to pull its leg out, but the manhole cover was too heavy.

 

He didn’t think, he just burst into a sprint. Out into the middle of the road. With a cab only a few yards away and quickly speeding towards him. To save a cat.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the brightest idea.

Then again, he wasn’t thinking about that as he pumped his legs as fast as they would go.

Bent down mid-sprint.

Grabbed the cat around its middle.

Heard the horn blaring.

Pulled the cat to his chest.

Barrel-rolled to the other side of the street.

 

He laid there on his back, staring up at the gray sky and tried to catch his breath. After a few moments, he looked down his chest, still heaving.

Very wide, very frightened eyes met his. The cat was poised in his arms, claws out and frozen in terror.

He stared at the unmoving furball for a second, then burst into hysterical giggles.

It was only then that the cat blinked.

“Oh my god,” he cackled, “That was – that was the craziest thing… I’ve ever done.” The thought that he had just risked his life for a bloody _cat_ made him laugh even harder. He let his head thunk against the concrete and laughed so hard he cried.

When he was no longer giggling so violently it made his stomach ache, he looked back down at the cat, who looked right back at him and blinked again. And again. And then some more. Poor thing was probably in shock.

 

“You alright,” he asked, sitting up and putting his bum safely on the side walk as he cradled the feline in his arms. He gazed down at it, spoke quietly so as not to spook it. Lifted a hand to gently take the injured paw in his fingers.

The cat hissed and pulled its paw away.

“Shhh, shhh it’s okay, let me take a look. Don’t worry, I’m a doctor,” he cooed, ignoring the fact that being a _people_ doctor didn’t exactly translate into being a _cat_ doctor. Or the fact that he was talking to a cat like that.

The feline stayed still, but kept its ears down and its gray eyes narrowed.

John felt the paw carefully, pressed between its pads gently. The cat didn’t react other than glaring harder. “Well, looks like you’re alright. I should probably take you to a vet though,” he said absentmindedly.

He cried out when the cat scratched his hand and wriggled out of his grasp. He stuck his bloody knuckles in his mouth, giving the cat a venomous look as it leered back a safe distance from him. “You arse, I just saved your life,” he snarled. He glared harder when the furry devil merely licked its paw and looked away from him. “Fine, be a cock. That’s the last time I ever do anything for a cat,” he growled as he shakily got to his feet. He’d stick to dogs, thank you very much. At least they show gratitude.

He looked down at the cat again, who was keeping its gaze in the opposite direction of him. Git. Bloody, buggering arse. He was regretting his moment of blind bravery as he looked across the street and saw his cane.

He shook his head in disbelief, let out a quiet laugh. Who knew running out into the street would make him forget his limp?

He checked to see that no cars were coming, then unsteadily made his way across the street. Passed by the manhole and stopped. Stared down at it for a second, then bent down and grunted with effort as he slid it open. He let it go with a heavy clink, then stood and looked over at the cat.

The feline only stared at him with wide eyes.

He huffed and grumbled, “There. Stay out of the street.”

It blinked.

He shook his head, grabbed his cane, and limped away.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

Sarah hadn’t been happy.

John had apologized profusely, but refrained from telling her the tale of that morning. He had the feeling she wouldn’t believe him.

 

That afternoon, he was sitting comfortably in his chair at the front counter. All of the dogs had been let out for a walk that day, two had even been adopted. The cats had been played with in the cat room, one had been adopted. Everyone had food and water and there was nothing else to do but wait until his volunteer shift was over.

“You can head home,” Sarah said warmly after emerging from one of the rooms.

John looked up and frowned a little. “You sure? I still have an hour.” He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to limp back to his sad, lonely flat and stare at the telly for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, it’s a slow day. You head out, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

 

He didn’t actually watch anything that night, he was too busy thinking about that damn cat.


	2. Chapter 2

John woke with a stifled sob.

 

 

He laid on his side and shook.

Stared at the desk across the dark room.

Sat up, grabbed his cane.

Shuffled over to it.

Opened the drawer.

 

He sat in the chair and stared down at his gun.

The metal was cool in his warm hand.

It was even colder pressed up against his temple.

The safety gave a soft click.

It calmed him.

Stopped his tremors.

  

He closed his eyes.

  

Put his finger on the trigger.

 

 

He thought of Scraps’ cold nose against his cheek.

Of Sarah and Jill and the other volunteers.

Of those animals in those cages who needed nothing more than someone to love.

 

 

He put the gun back and slid the drawer shut.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

When he walked up to the shelter that morning, he swore he could feel eyes on him. No one was there when he looked around. He told himself it was the lack of sleep. After all, he hadn’t gotten a wink of it after his little episode the night before.

 

After helping out with the dogs in the back, he sat at the desk and picked up that day’s newspaper.

In big, bold, black letters read ‘Missing Diamond Ring Found in Sewer, Serial Thief Apprehended.’ He didn’t think about it, just scanned the article, then got up to clean the already spotless lobby when he grew bored.

 

That afternoon when he left, the same feeling followed him until he got home.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

Two more days went by.

Two more days of feeling like he was being watched.

It was unsettling, to say the least, and he found himself getting even less sleep than usual.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“John, you okay,” Sarah asked carefully.

The man in question was sitting down at the front desk, head bowed.

Sarah stood there quietly until John let out a soft snore.

“John!”

He jolted up, then looked at Sarah blearily and rubbed at his eyes. When the metaphorical light bulb went off over his head, he had the decency to look properly sheepish. “Sorry,” he muttered, “Haven’t been getting much sleep lately…”

Sarah frowned, but looked a bit sympathetic. “Maybe you should go home.”

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

After an entire week, he was on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

 

_It’s all in your head._

_You’re not in the desert anymore._

_It’s all in your head._

_There aren’t any snipers out here._

_It’s all in your head._

_You’re losing it, John._

He could barely put one foot in front of the other as he approached the front door of the shelter. A rustle in the bushes made him stop and look over.

Peering at him between the leaves were two eyes.

He stood there and stared back, then jumped when the thing in the foliage gave a soft, curious meow.

 

He blinked and smiled, then creakily got down on one knee to get a closer look. “Hey there, mate! What’re you doin’ out here all by yourself,” he cooed, sticking out hand out slowly – palm up, just like Sarah had taught him.

With absolute patience, he sat there and waited for the creature to slowly emerge. When it popped its head out, his mouth fell open.

It was the cat.

_The_ cat.

 

“It’s you! You’re the bugger I saved from that cabbie! You scratched me,” he nearly shouted, frowning when the cat suddenly glared at him. “Have you been the one spyin’ on me? Waitin’ to maul me again?”

The cat turned its nose up and looked away.

“You little shit,” he growled, then pushed on his cane to stand up and glared down at the cat. “What’re you doin’ here anyway?”

The cat looked at him out of the corner of its eye, then flicked an ear and trotted away.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

The next few days, it was the same. John would walk to the shelter, he and the cat would have a glaring contest for a moment, then it would walk away and he would go inside. It was a pretty odd arrangement, but neither seemed to want to change it.

 

He eventually started leaving a little bowl of food and water for it. Every time he would check in the afternoon, neither was touched.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

After a week of their strange mornings, John was sitting at the front desk when a customer walked in. As soon as they opened the door, the crazy cat bolted inside.

 

Chaos ensued as everyone tried to grab it. The five volunteers of the day were tripping all over themselves and each other, the dogs and cats in the back rooms went into hysterics, and it seemed like everyone was trying to out-shout each other.

The cat somehow managed to avoid any and all volunteers and traps, and made it up onto the tippy-top shelf of the bookcases in the front lobby. And there it sat, hissing and swiping at everyone.

Eventually, things quieted down and they all stood around with their hands on their hips, wondering how a cat managed to be so cunning.

 

“Well, it’s gotta come down sometime, right,” John sighed, staring up the fiend as it glared back down at him.

Sarah gave an answering sigh and crossed her arms. “We can’t just leave it there,” she groaned.

“Look, I’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll grab it if it tries to come down, alright,” he answered, setting a soothing hand on her shoulder.

She gave him a skeptical look for a moment, then nodded and left with the other volunteers.

 

It was just John and the cat left.

The feline continued to glare down at him, poised as if ready to scramble away at any second. Its ears were flat and its tail flicked in agitation.

He shook his head and gave it an exasperated smile. “You’re a sneaky little arse, you know that?”

The cat only growled.

 

It sat up there all morning, glaring and hissing at everyone who got too close. Mostly though, it just watched John.

 

A half hour before John’s volunteer shift was over, another customer came in.

The cat leaped down from the shelves and bolted out the door before he could even blink.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

The next few days, the same thing happened. The cat bolted in, everyone went into hysterics, it found a new place to perch, and it sat there and watched John until he was ready to go home, then bolted back out.

 

“I think it’s obsessed with me,” John said to no one in particular.

Sarah only gave him a confused look.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

Everyone left the cat alone after a while. After all, it wasn’t harming anyone. It just sat and stared at John all day. Why him in particular, nobody had any clue, but he eventually just got used to eyes on him while he was working or manning the front desk or reading the newspaper. He glanced at it occasionally, and every time, it looked vaguely embarrassed for a moment before rolling over or cleaning itself.

 

“I think it’s obsessed with you,” Sarah said to him one day.

He just smiled and looked over at the cat, who was glaring at them both.


	3. Chapter 3

John was eating spaghetti for lunch at the front desk when the cat suddenly jumped down. He froze, mouth open and fork in midair, staring at the cat as it stared back at him from on the floor.

They watched each other as it slinked across the tile towards him, sat in front of the counter, then jumped up onto it.

 

He smiled at it, it flicked its ears, and all was quiet.

 

He slowly moved his forkful of pasta near it, asking quietly, “You hungry?”

It stared at him, then down at the fork, then back up at him.

Slowly stretched out.

Opened its mouth and flashed its sharp, white teeth.

Then darted past his hand, snatched up a meatball from his bowl, then whipped around and jumped off the counter.

“Hey!” John shook his head and watched as the cat scurried across the room, leaped back up onto the bookshelf, and started nibbling at the meat.

“Arse,” he grumbled, then went back to eating his lunch.

 

Naturally, he began giving the cat part of his lunch every day. It wouldn’t touch ‘cat food,’ but it would get a nibble of human food before going back to perching on the bookshelves. He didn’t mind, the cat was much too thin anyway.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“I think I should give you a name,” John told the cat one day.

It stared down at him, then flicked an ear and looked like it was frowning. Then again, it always looked like that.

He hummed in thought, then ventured, “Shadow?” It would match its dark fur.  
The cat pulled its ears back and growled.

“Okay then, not Shadow,” he mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Ebony?”

The cat growled again.

“Um… Dusk? Shade? Spooky?”

The cat hissed and then rolled over so that its back was facing him.

“Fine, nevermind.” He sighed and scratched his forehead. “You know what,” he said to himself, “I don’t even know if you’re a girl or a boy…”

The cat hissed again.

 

The next morning, he found a newspaper on the front counter. It was an old one, over two years old, and he frowned at it. Why was it here? Why hadn’t someone binned it ages ago? He picked it up and was ready to toss it, but the cat jumped on to the counter.

“It’s not lunch time yet,” he huffed, but the cat only pointedly looked down at the newspaper, making him look down as well. He looked back up at the cat, who he could have sworn was giving him a ‘you're an idiot’ look before it jumped down and clambered back up the bookshelves.

He shook his head and sat down, then opened the newspaper and perused the articles. One in particular interested him, the title ‘Genius Goes Missing’ splashed across the front. He had been in Afghanistan at the time, hadn’t heard any of the news back home since Harry didn’t write to him and he didn’t bother keeping friends. Sounded like a proper mystery though, and his heart went out to the detective and his family.

One thing really stuck with him though, and that was the name.

Honestly, who names their child _Sherlock_?

He grinned and huffed through his nose, then folded up the newspaper and went into the back rooms to see if he could help with anything.

 

Later that day, he was sharing his lunch with the cat when he had an epiphany.

“What about Sherlock?”

The cat looked up from its scraps, gave him a bored look, then went back to eating.

Well, it hadn’t hissed that time.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“Ugh, that bloody cat,” Sarah screeched when it swiped at her head as she passed the bookcases.

John looked up from his paperwork and said, “Sherlock.”

Sarah looked at him, her face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

He smiled, pointed up at the fiend in question with his pencil, then repeated, “Sherlock. Its name is Sherlock.”

Sarah squinted at him for a moment, then shook her head before going to the back rooms.

He watched her leave, then looked over at Sherlock.

The cat was staring at him, but it looked away as soon as they locked eyes.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

He sat back with a groan, stretched his arms above his head, then huffed as he lowered them again. That had been a lot of paperwork. It was good for everyone to have him up at the front constantly, it had given him a chance to help them catch up on everything.

He smiled triumphantly at the newly filled and organized file cabinet, then jumped when Sherlock leaped onto the counter top. “It’s not lunch,” he said with a smile, watching it as it crept forward.

It stared at him with its big, blue eyes as it inched towards him.

Twitched an ear when he raised an eyebrow.

Sat down only a foot away from him.

 

They had one of their many staring contests before he tentatively lifted a hand up.

Inched it towards the cat.

Carefully, carefully, touched its forehead with his fingertips.

 

The cat blinked and then scurried off.

 

 

Each passing day, the cat let him touch him just a little bit longer. On its forehead. The tip of its nose. A twitching ear.

 

Then the day came where Sherlock let him hold his hand gently on its shoulder blades.

It let him keep it there as he worked, let him even scratch the silky fur a bit. But whenever he looked over at it, it turned grumpy in a second and glared at him, and he would quickly look away so as not to disrupt the moment. It took a few minutes before it would relax again, and he was careful not to move too much each time.

It was nice, he could get used to it.

 

Then Sarah walked into the room, and it darted back up the bookshelves and hissed.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

A young man came in one day, looking utterly distraught as he led a happy mutt through the doors.

John knew that look. He smiled sympathetically at the man and said, “Hello. What can I help you with?” He already knew the answer, and his heart ached when the man’s eyes went shiny and he swallowed.

“J-Jeff… my, my dog here,” the young man stuttered, took a shaky breath, then continued, “He… I…” He swallowed again and looked down at the pup, who looked back up at its owner with a look of complete adoration. A pink tongue rolled out of its mouth, and it started to wag its tail excitedly as it pawed at the man’s leg. “I… sorry,” the man said, looking away for a moment to compose himself.

John waited patiently.

“My fiancé… she has a c-cat and… Jeff always hated cats. Ever since he was a pup,” the man mumbled, his face falling with each word. “He tried to hurt it and… my fiancé said I have to… to…” He heaved another breath and looked at the ceiling, blinking away tears. “I’ve tried everything, went to trainers and dog whisperers and nothing…” He looked down at the canine, then bent down and hugged it around its neck when it started whining. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dog’s brown fur.

A heavy feeling settled in John’s gut as he watched them, and he nodded solemnly. “It’s okay… I understand. Don’t worry, we’ll try our best to get him a good home, I promise.” He smiled when the man looked up at him, then reached under the desk to grab a stack of paperwork.

 

They all stopped when a soft ‘thump’ came from the corner of the room.

 

John’s heart leaped into his throat as Sherlock started slowly advancing towards the man and his dog. Eyes wide, body low, the cat slinked forward inch by inch, not even flinching when the canine began growling.

“Sherlo-” John began, then scrambled from behind the counter when the young man had to hold back his barking, snarling pet.

The cat only continued on, locking eyes with the dog and completely ignoring the two humans.

 

Jeff stopped growling.

It slowly leaned out of his owner’s grasp.

Bent down to meet the feline.

Stared at it.

 

Sherlock lifted a paw and touched its nose.

 

The dog barked happily and stuck its bottom in the air, its tail wagging nearly in a circle. Its pink tongue lolled out again and it began barking excitedly like a puppy.

 

The young man looked at John, who merely shrugged and looked down at the smug cat in disbelief.

“Well… I think your fiancé and her cat don’t have anything to worry about anymore…”

The two of them left not long after, the dog still barking happily and his owner wiping happy tears from his face.

 

John looked down at Sherlock and shook his head. “You are… amazing,” he muttered, smiling more when the cat stuck its nose in the air as if to say ‘I know.’ He got down on one knee and kept grinning at the feline, who looked back at him carefully. “I mean it, that was incredible. How did you do that,” he asked, as if Sherlock could answer him.

The cat looked down at the floor, then back up at him.

Closed the gap between them.

Stared up at him.

 

Then brushed its head against his leg and started purring.


	4. Chapter 4

The day after the incident with Jeff, it seemed Sherlock had finally deemed John worthy.

Alright, that was a bit of an understatement.

To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it when Sherlock jumped into his lap that morning and claimed him as its throne. It would glare up at him every time he so much as stopped petting it for a second, and he found himself irrationally apologizing more than once.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, but I really have to use the loo.”  
The cat only looked up at him, then stretched its jaw wide in a great yawn and stuck its butt into the air before turning around the other way and curling back up.  
John sighed and went back to typing.

Not long after, one young volunteer – what was his name again? – walked up to the counter and tried to ask John something. Sherlock tensed and hissed as if to say ‘my human’ at the poor thing, making him back up with his hands in the air.  
“Sherlock,” John scolded, frowning down at the cat.  
The feline immediately looked up at John with big, blue eyes and rolled onto its back, letting out a kittenish mewl and pawing at his jumper.  
Of course, John melted in an instant, and he shook his head and muttered, “Clot,” as he scratched behind its ear.

Oh well, he wasn’t very fond of people anyway.

 

~ - - - - ~

 

When the sun came up, he finally dragged himself out of bed.

Another night full of terrors.

He dressed slowly.  
Made tea slowly.  
Put on his jacket slowly.  
Limped to the shelter slowly.

He stood outside it for a long while, his head and his heart feeling thick and heavy.

“Brrrrow?”

He looked down at his feet and smiled when Sherlock rubbed against his leg and stared up at him. “Good morning, love,” he murmured, smiling more when Sherlock’s eyes went wide and it started to rub its head against his leg more furiously.

 

~ - - - - ~

 

A young couple came in one day.

The door opened and Sherlock sat up, glaring at the both of them.

The woman’s belly was swollen with a baby and the man looked over the moon about it.  
John couldn’t help but feel something ugly in his core, but he brushed it off when the couple greeted him.  
“Hi, we’re looking for a puppy. We’re about to have a baby soon, and we want something for her to grow up with,” the woman said excitedly, looking to her husband who nodded in affirmation.  
“Yeah, something that’ll… uh, will, you know, grow up to be a medium-sized dog,” he added.  
John looked at the both of them and smiled. “If you don’t mind me saying,” he answered carefully, “you might actually want to look into a dog that’s a little bit older.”  
The young couple gave him matching looks of confusion.  
“Well,” John continued, “Having a baby is a lot of work. Having a puppy even more so… essentially, it’s like having another baby… one that doesn’t always know when to be gentle.” When understanding began to light in their eyes, John pushed on, “Having an older, calmer dog is good because they tend to be rather protective of young children and know how to handle them better.” He smiled again, feeling proud of himself. Thank heaven Sarah was a good teacher. “If you’d like, I can take you to the back room and show you some of them.”  
The couple nodded and he picked Sherlock up, who gave an annoyed growl, and set him on the counter before standing up and grabbing his cane.

He ignored their concerned glances at his cane as he opened the door for them.  
The cacophony of dogs trying to out-bark each other spilled out, and he waited for the couple to cautiously walk through before he closed the door.  
Just before it shut, Sherlock bolted through.  
“Sherlock,” he scolded, and the young couple jumped and watched as the cat pranced between the rows of cages.  
John gave the two an apologetic look before he limped after the cat. “Sherlock, you git, get back here,” he grumbled, trying to get his damn leg to move faster.

He turned the corner to find Sherlock sitting in front of a cage.

Inside was an enormous, shaggy mutt named Rose. She was one of the most loving, gentle dogs in the shelter, but she had been there for so long because of her size. She had her big, wet nose through the gate, trying to sniff at Sherlock. The feline only watched her silently.  
John looked down at the cat, then over at Rose, then turned around and walked back around the corner.  
“I think I found the right one,” he said when he saw the couple again. He smiled when they rushed over and clicked back to Sherlock. The cat looked over at him, then went back to gazing at Rose.

“It’s so… big,” the young husband said cautiously before looking down at Sherlock.  
The cat looked back up at him and gave him its trademark ‘you’re an idiot’ look.  
“I dunno about that one,” the wife whispered to her husband who nodded back at her.  
John tried not to sigh audibly and instead smiled at the two of them. “Look, I know her size is a bit intimidating, but I swear on my life, she’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever met. And we think she’s part Newfoundland, which is one of the best breeds to have with children. Generally speaking, the bigger the dog, the better they are with young ones… I promise you, she’ll be great with the baby.”  
The couple still looked a bit skeptical, but the husband moved closer to the cage and squatted down. Rose looked up at him with her big, black eyes and wagged her tail. When he stuck his hand up to the cage, she sniffed at it and started licking him, making him laugh.  
“I like her,” he said quietly, reaching through the gate to pet her.  
When the wife got closer to pet Rose as well, John looked down at Sherlock again. He raised an eyebrow and smirked when the feline stuck its nose up in the air.

After a walk was taken, playtime was had, and all the paperwork was filled out, the husband led a very happy Rose out the door.  
“Bye, and thank you so much,” the wife called out.  
Rose looked back at John with biggest grin he had ever seen on her face before she trotted off to her new home.

He sat down and put his head in his hands, smiling at Sherlock as the cat lounged on the counter top. “Alright, out with it. How the hell did you do that,” he muttered fondly, smirking when the cat only licked its paw. No cat should be that clever.  
Then again, it was Sherlock.  
He shook his head and chuckled, then leaned forward and laid his cheek against the cold counter so he could gaze into its beautiful blue-grey eyes. “You are absolutely brilliant.”  
Sherlock blinked at him for a moment, then reached out and rubbed its nose against his hand.

 

~ - - - - ~

 

Naturally, word got around at the shelter.

The next customer that came in, a jogger in his mid-thirties, all of the volunteers stopped what they were doing and followed John as he followed Sherlock through the back room. They all gasped and murmured when the cat sat in front of Jack’s cage – a bright, young terrier mix – and went into a frenzy when Jack and the jogger hit it off in an instant.  
“We should put the cat in charge of the shelter,” one of the volunteers joked.  
Sherlock didn’t even deem her worthy of a scathing look, it just stuck its nose in the air and strutted back to the lobby.  
“Incredible,” John mumbled, pulling Sherlock to his chest as it purred so loud its whole body shook.

 

That same day, Sherlock paired an elderly woman with an old, scruffy looking cat.  
“Wonderful,” John said, as Sherlock pressed its nose under his chin.

 

The next day, four more animals had homes.  
“Extraordinary,” John cooed as Sherlock twisted in his arms and rubbed its cheek against his.

 

~ - - - - ~

 

“It may be a demon cat, but you two are adorable together,” Sarah said.

  
John and Sherlock froze mid-cuddling, and he frowned down at the feline when it hissed at her. “Knock it off,” he huffed, then huffed again when the cat mewled and rubbed its face against his. “Oh no you don't, quit being all cute just so you don’t get in trouble.”  
Sherlock blinked enormous eyes at him. _Who, me?_  
He shook his head and smirked, looking up at Sarah.  
She smiled back down at him and walked closer, ignoring Sherlock’s growling. “John, you look… different.” When he merely raised an eyebrow, she looked shy and shrugged. “I mean, I dunno… You just… smile more than you used to.”  
He looked down at Sherlock and felt something warm settle around his heart.

He had been thinking the same thing recently.


	5. Chapter 5

“There you are, Sherlock,” John chuckled, reaching out to grab the cat as it bounded into his arms outside the shelter. “And how is my brilliant, gorgeous kitty?”

He stopped and grimaced.

 

Oh god, it had happened.

 

He was officially a cat person.

 

It was _disgusting_.

 

However, Sherlock mewling and purring and rubbing its face all over his own made him realize he didn’t really care.

He chuckled and pushed the door open with his hip, said ‘good morning’ to Sarah, then sat down and proceeded to pet Sherlock all day when the cat wasn’t busy match-making.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“What’re you smiling at,” Sarah laughed.

 

John looked up, realized that he was indeed grinning like a loon, then licked his lips nervously. “I… um… I dunno, I’m just… happy?”

Sherlock wasn’t though, and the cat glared up at the intruder from its human’s lap.

Sarah grinned and looked down, then leaned against the counter and cleared her throat. “Uh, John – ”

Sherlock suddenly started meowing loudly and pawing at John’s chest, making him frown down at it. “Sherlock, stop, I’m trying to talk to Sarah,” he grumbled, leaning his head over when the cat stretched up and tried to block his view. “Sherlock. Sherlock, stop. Sherlock!”

Sarah bit her lip to hide her smile as John huffed and set the cat down on the floor.

“Sorry, what were you gonna say,” he said to her with a grin. His smile grew when Sherlock only meowed louder and started rubbing against his legs.

“I was just,” Sarah began again, “I was wondering if – ”

 

The most ear-splitting, nails-on-chalkboard feeling, unholy screeching straight from the bowels of hell burst forth from the furry demon at John’s feet.

 

“Alright, _alright_ ,” John shouted, reaching down to grab the cat and deposit it back in his lap. “Jesus Christ! Look, see, I’m paying attention to you!” He held it against its chest as it wriggled like a worm and kept yowling. “Yes, yes! See, I’m petting you! I’m petting you! Yes,” he laughed, spitting out fur when Sherlock rubbed all over his face. “Yes, yes, thank you, _thank you_ , yes. Good kitty. Per-” he spit out more fur and laughed harder, “-fect, brilliant, _beautiful_ kitty.”

Finally, the cat settled down and curled up under his chin, purring like a motor with its face squished against his cheek.

If only he could see the truly terrifying look it was giving Sarah.

He chuckled again and looked back up at the vet, who was smiling fondly at him. “Sorry, continue?”

“Nevermind,” she sighed before walking off.

 

Sadly, it took him until lunch to realize what Sarah had been trying to do, and he groaned and let his head thump onto the counter.

Sherlock started purring and rubbing against his hair.

“I hate you,” he grumbled into the wood.

The cat only purred louder.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

After two weeks of Sherlock weaving its magic, the shelter got a phone call.

It was the jogger with Jack, and he told John how the two of them were having the time of their lives and that he couldn’t thank the shelter enough.

 

John didn’t bother hiding his grin when he hung up, and he looked over at the cat to find it positively preening as it stretched across the counter.

 

“I don’t know how you do it, or how you’re even capable of it, but I don’t really give a damn,” he said in awe.

Sherlock looked over at him and blinked.

He leaned forward and murmured, “Just as long as you keep doing it, that’s all I care about.” His eyes crinkled when the cat tilted its head curiously. “You’re helping out a lot of animals, Sherlock… and… well, to be perfectly honest, you’re helping me out too.” He stared at the feline a moment longer, then closed the gap between them and kissed its forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered into its silky fur, then pulled away and reached up to scratch it behind the ear.

He froze when he saw the look on its face.

Its eyes were enormous, even bigger than when he had saved it from the cabbie. Its fur was bristled, its whiskers on end. And it was perfectly still.

Then it blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked some more.

 

He was starting to wonder if he had broken it.

 

But then it looked at him. Almost shy, if cats could be shy. Could they?

Its ears fell back and it looked down.

It stretched forward slowly.

Lifted its head to his.

Gave him a small, kittenish lick on his chin.

Then pressed its nose against the same spot and let out the tiniest meow it could possibly make.

 

John’s heart swelled to the point of bursting. It ached and his eyes stung and very bones hurt as he wrapped his arms around the cat and pulled it against his chest.

 

He didn’t want to think about the home Sherlock must have had to be so afraid of showing affection.

He didn’t want to think about its old owner.

He didn’t want to think that maybe it had never had anyone to love at all.

 

All he wanted to think about was how much it meant to him, and how much he hoped he meant to it.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“Hey there, Sherlock,” Sarah said as she walked by the cat.

It only growled at her.

“Wow, she really is a one-person cat, huh,” she chuckled, shuffling through a pile of papers on the counter top.

John huffed a laugh and kept filling out the form on the computer. “Yeah… but to be honest, I still don’t know if it's a boy or a girl,” he mumbled absentmindedly. When he felt her eyes on him, he turned to meet her gaze and smiled sheepishly.  
“Why haven’t you checked?”

He shrugged and looked at the cat, who was glaring daggers at her. “I… well, it doesn’t seem very polite to just yank its leg up… And I don’t really fancy getting scratched again.” He squinted at her. "Wait, why do you think Sherlock's a 'she'?"

Sarah laughed and shrugged. "Well... she, er, it is pretty obsessed with you. The other volunteers joke that she wants you all to her- itself, so we just all assumed it was female." She smirked for a moment, then looked down at the cat. "You could hold it while I check?"

Sherlock hissed as if it understood and scrambled off the counter and onto John, curling up underneath his chin and yowling at Sarah.

“Oi, enough ‘a that,” he sighed, holding it close and petting it while its hissing died down. “Sorry, I think that’s a ‘no.’”

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

Sherlock stopped in front of Scraps’ kennel.

 

John felt his heart stop.

 

“He’s so cute,” the little girl squealed, hopping up and down beside her mother.

While the mother calmed her daughter down enough so they could get closer, John licked his lips and looked down at Sherlock.

The cat met his gaze.

 

He swore he saw pity in its eyes.

 

 

Oh well, it wasn’t like he could take in Scraps anyway.

 

 

He said goodbye to the pup.

Limped back to the counter.

Sat down at the creaky chair.

Stared at nothing.

Tried to ignore his heavy heart.

 

“Mrow?”

 

He smiled sadly when Sherlock crawled onto his chest and rubbed its forehead against his chin. Wrapped his arms around it and rubbed his hands along its soft fur. Pressed his lips to its cheek.

“At least I still have you.”

Sherlock purred and licked his cheek back as if to say ‘yes, you do.’


End file.
